---
Chapter 15 The Quidditch Match
The days slipped by quickly. After November arrived, the cold settled in for real. The mountains around Hogwarts turned gray with frost. The lake looked like hammered steel. Every morning, the ground sparkled white.
Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table, yawning nonstop. He had stayed up far too late last night reading, mostly because the whole school was buzzing about the Quidditch match. Since everyone else had basically treated the week like a holiday, he had joined them. What he had not expected was to be dragged out of bed by Pansy at dawn.
"First, why can girls walk into the boys' dorms like it's a common room? Second, why is everyone obsessed with this match?" Malfoy had dark circles under his eyes. He moved like a machine, mechanically chewing on bread and glaring at the world.
"Today is the most important match of the season. If we lose, Gryffindor will catch up," Pansy said beside him, deep in analysis mode.
No matter what happens, Dumbledore is giving the Cup to Gryffindor to boost Harry's reputation, Malfoy thought.
He kept that one to himself.
"And they have the protagonist halo. If the Snitch flies straight into Potter's mouth, what are we supposed to do?" he added silently.
Out loud he said, "Relax. Our team can crush Gryffindor. You don't need to worry."
"Oh, right, I heard the Savior is their Seeker. Their captain even said he's some 'secret weapon'. He's a first year. What can he possibly do? Unless they're cheating." Pansy stacked two slices of bread and spread jam between them.
"Miss, when people think 'cheating', they think of Slytherin first," Malfoy said, almost laughing. Slytherin wasn't technically cheating. They just… bent things.
"It'd be better if you went out there," Pansy said, eyes lighting up. "Go crush their pride."
"Absolutely not. I'm not interested. If you hadn't forced me, I wouldn't even watch the match."
"Not interested? Which means you're actually very good, right?" Pansy said, catching the slip instantly.
"Don't talk with your mouth full." Malfoy shoved the bread sandwich into her mouth. She let out a muffled noise and glared at him.
"You trying to murder me?" It took her ages to swallow that chunk of bread. She chased it with a large gulp of honey tea.
"You're murdering me by dragging me to events. You know—"
"Time is life," Pansy said in a mocking tone. "You're so annoying. I don't care. Today, you're going."
"Fine, fine." Malfoy waved a hand, surrendering.
Just pretend you're gathering intel about Voldemort, he told himself.
That made it sound slightly more meaningful.
"That's more like it." Pansy lifted her chin, victorious.
---
By eleven o'clock, every teacher and student seemed packed into the stands around the pitch. Some had binoculars. The seats were raised, but sometimes even that wasn't enough for a clear view.
Because Pansy was overly excited, she and Malfoy arrived early and found seats in the front. Not that it made a huge difference at a Quidditch match.
"Oh no." Pansy slapped her forehead. "I forgot binoculars." She turned to Malfoy with hopeful eyes.
"Don't look at me. I could try summoning them from the dorm. Flying Spell?"
"Go to hell."
Malfoy snorted. Fair enough. The dorm was way too far, and Accio had limits. Maybe Dumbledore could do it, but not him.
Actually, if I can't see clearly, I won't have to pretend I care, Malfoy thought.
"Close your eyes," he said.
Pansy obeyed immediately.
"She only stops being arrogant when she wants something," Malfoy said under his breath.
"Broaden your vision," he whispered, casting his self-made spell.
For someone serious about magic, crafting a spell was a milestone. It meant stepping beyond textbook knowledge and into real magic. Even Lockhart, incompetent as he was, had become famous because he tweaked a memory charm.
Innovation is productivity, Malfoy mused.
And my first spell is being used for… better Quidditch seats. Lovely.
But a support spell was still a spell. He couldn't complain too much.
"You can open your eyes."
Pansy blinked. "Now I understand why you practically live in the library." She stared at the Slytherin team as if she were standing in their huddle. Flint's spit looked close enough to dodge.
"So-so," she said. "I want to hear what they're saying though."
"I can't help you with that." Malfoy shrugged.
"Useless," she muttered.
"Oh, so you're kicking me aside now?"
"Shut up. The game is starting."
Female fans really are unreasonable no matter the world, Malfoy thought bitterly.
Madam Hooch stood at the center of the field with her broom, waiting for the teams. The stands were loud with shouting, banners, glitter, everything. Malfoy was the only one looking around at the crowd instead of the field.
Snape looked as cold as ever, but his eyes flicked toward Harry constantly.
Malfoy's gaze moved. He spotted Quirrell with his ridiculous turban.
Now there's bad luck. Running into Voldemort in the wild.
He swept higher up the stands. Ron and Hermione were waving a bedsheet banner that read "Potter Will Win", the lion painted underneath flashing different colors thanks to Hermione's spell.
Soon the players took their positions.
"Mount your brooms!" Madam Hooch shouted.
The whistle blew.
Fifteen brooms shot upward.
"That equipment gap is unreal," Malfoy muttered. Even with his eyes, he could tell the speed difference between Harry's broom and everyone else's. "No wonder teams need sponsors."
The match went back and forth. Malfoy found it boring. The Snitch ruined the whole structure of the game. Why bother scoring goals when one person decided everything?
One day I'm going to enchant a Bludger to rack up two hundred points just to break this rule, Malfoy thought.
Lee Jordan's commentary blasted across the stadium. He had absolutely no attempt at neutrality. Gryffindor breathed? Amazing. Slytherin existed? Garbage. It reminded Malfoy of a commentator from his previous life who once shouted "Long live Italy!" and got roasted for years.
Flint fouled Harry. Gryffindor got a penalty but wasted it.
Then Harry's broom began to shake. Violently.
"Ron, look! Something's wrong with his broom!" Hermione said first, alarmed.
Harry shot higher and higher as his broom jerked around like it had gone mad. He barely held on.
Hagrid arrived late. "Harry flies like his dad. Don't worry. This must be one of your tricks. No way—"
His words cut off in shock.
Everyone in the stands pointed up. Harry's broom rolled, twisted, and threw him around until he dangled by one hand.
"Was the broom damaged when Flint hit him?" Seamus whispered.
"That's a Nimbus 2000," Ron said, voice cracking.
"It's black magic," Hermione whispered. She snatched Hagrid's binoculars and began scanning the crowd, not the field.
Soon she found her target and took off toward the stands.
Malfoy watched. "And the little heroine goes into action."
Shame she picked the wrong culprit.
He followed her path with mild amusement as she shoved her way near Snape. Meanwhile, Quirrell flinched when Hermione bumped him.
Malfoy almost laughed.
Hermione, with all her brains, had no idea she had just interrupted Quirrell mid-curse.
Even without her, Dumbledore wouldn't let Harry die. But it was still funny.
Harry's broom steadied.
A wave of cheers erupted. Harry held up the Snitch.
"I caught it!" he shouted.
"170 to 60! Gryffindor wins!" Lee Jordan yelled.
"Damn it," Pansy snapped.
That was when Malfoy felt a sharp pain.
Pansy had pinched his leg. Hard.
I am never sitting next to a female fan again, he swore.
Then, with mock solemnity, Malfoy bowed his head.
"Let us observe two seconds of silence for Professor Snape, whose robe was set on fire."
"Let's go," Pansy growled. She stood up, took one step, then instantly toppled back into her seat.
"Vision as before," Malfoy said, trying not to laugh. Pansy hadn't undone the spell.
He reached out a hand. "Come on."
She hesitated, then took it. But she didn't stand. She looked down, thinking.
"They won by luck today, right?" she asked suddenly.
"Definitely luck," Malfoy said smoothly.
"We'll win next year, right?"
"Of course."
"You'll take revenge for us, right?"
"Yes, yes, yes."
And the moment he said it, he realized he'd walked straight into a trap.
"Good." Pansy brightened instantly, her smile warm and soft, like sunlight after rain. "Let's go."
Malfoy stared at her, speechless.
---
---
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Like it ? Add to library!
Have some idea about my story? Comment it and let me know.
Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!
Creation is hard, cheer me up! VOTE for me!